


the intracacies of touch

by abominableastronaut



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Elezen Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Hurt/Comfort, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Nonbinary Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28847046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abominableastronaut/pseuds/abominableastronaut
Summary: After their attempt on Zenos's life, the Warrior of Light tends Yugiri's wounds.
Relationships: Yugiri Mistwalker & Warrior of Light, Yugiri Mistwalker/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 5





	the intracacies of touch

The bitter sting of defeat is a more grievous cut than any littering her body, but Yugiri is more than familiar with the risks of infections. Thus forearmed with knowledge, she makes it a priority to see to her wounds once they are safely back at Namai. The adrenaline flooding the foolhardy (brave) villagers has dimmed, and they drift like ghosts back to their homes. Homes that could have been destroyed tonight, had Zenos not declared a retreat.

Her assasination attempt failed, and brought all of them unnecessary risk, and her allies had defended her anyway. Alisaie and Gosetsu had joined the villagers in their rescue effort, and the Warrior of Light had chosen to accompany her from the very first. Though she is shamed by her failure to avenge Doma and her lord, the love her friends have shown tonight stems the flow of that particular wound. Her other injuries she must see to herself.

Though the village lacks for a trained chirurgeon, their last healer taken away some moons ago, they were able to provide sufficient tonics and bandages with which to clean and dress her wounds. As Yugiri shrugs out of her armour, she takes stock of her visible injuries, noting each ache in those places she cannot see. Would that she had a mirror for the sharp pains upon her back, skin sore where she runs fingers over skin, but she can always request Lyse’s assistance if she cannot make sense of it by touch.

A light knock upon the door startles her out of her reverie, and she drops her hand from her back. For her not to be alert to an approach suggests a friend, and indeed the knock is followed by the Warrior of Light’s soft voice requesting entry.

Yugiri crosses the small room to grant them entry, ushering them inside with a gesture. Áine steps inside, holding in their hands a hefty pouch they set down on the low table.

“I brought some things that should help with your injuries. I can see you already have something-” They examine the faded label on one of the jars, “- but it won’t hurt to have someone look over you. If you would like.”

“I would appreciate your aid. There are some wounds I cannot see to myself.” She feels underdressed in the soft fabric of her shirt and trews, armour stacked neatly by the bed to be looked over once she is dealt with, but Áine is a competent healer and highly professional by all accounts. No Doman treated by them in Revenant’s Toll had any complaint. It is simply her own feelings that lead her to be this way, she muses, wishing she were victorious tonight, rather than having watched from the dirt as Áine defended them both from the man who had already near-killed them for sport. They would not turn to anger, but she would still welcome another layer of protection under which to hide her heart.

Áine bids her to sit on the bed, and she complies, watching them set out their tools and salves on the table as they kneel before it. When they turn to her, she moves as directed, letting them pull back the sleeve of her shirt to tend to the raw mess of her arm. She’d thrown it up to shield her face as she’d landed heavily, and where she’d tumbled across dirt and stone her forearm was an angry red between the scales.

Onto the arm a wet cloth is applied, the Warrior of Light wiping away any debris. Áine tugs gently at the hem of her shirt. “Off, please. The rest is going to be difficult with it in the way.”

Yugiri lifts the linen as far up her torso as she can manage, Áine helping lift the stained fabric over her head. The fabric is dotted with blood, several slices where necessary gaps in her defence lie, and one large tear at the back. At some point during the fight, she had tried to get back to her feet, only for Zenos to swat at her as if she were no more than an insect, his katana cleaving armour, scale, and skin like a knife would butter.

It must look as bad as it feels, because Áine audibly inhales at the sight. “My apologies in advance: this is going to hurt.”

“You only do as you must, and I trust you to do so as carefully as you do all things.” This is simply the price of failure, her trusted friend taking a new cloth to the wound and painstakingly tending to it. As she expected, Áine is efficient and gentle, only causing as much pain as is necessary to treat her. Once it is cleaned and disinfected, the soft glow of their healing lights the dim room as they close the wound via magic. Warmth infuses her as they knit the torn flesh together.

“You’re lucky, back wounds can be much worse.” Slightly up or to the left, and Yugiri would not be alive. She would have left Doma and Lord Hien with one less protector for her own desires. Yugiri ponders this as she watches Áine’s hands at work, cleaning and bandaging lesser cuts.

“It was for my own foolishness that it happened at all. Full glad am I to still live to see our efforts in Doma to fruition, but if I had died tonight it would have been for my mistake alone.” She can feel Áine’s frown, despite their face being hidden from their perch behind her.

“Foolish or not, it was very brave of you.” Generous in their praise, as always. She shakes her head. 

“It was foolish indeed. Had you not been with me, my defeat would have been all the more swift.”

“Why do you think I was there?” At this, Yugiri turns her head, looking Áine in the eye for the first time since they stepped into this room. “Yugiri, we both knew our chances were slim at best. You tried, for Doma and for those you swore to protect. Sometimes bravery is knowing your chances and trying anyway.

“I agreed to go with you because I wanted to help you.” They shrug, neatly tying off a bandage around her wrist. “A slim chance is still a chance. Helping you increased that chance, and I offered my help in freeing Doma and Ala Mhigo from Garlemald. Of course, if we were unable to kill Zenos, with the two of us together there was a better chance of you leaving alive.”

“One shinobi‘s life would be worth little next to the Warrior of Light.” Shame burns in her gut, and Yugiri bemoans her shortsightedness in this endeavour.

“Not to me, it isn’t. You deserve to live, Yugiri, to see your country free from the Empire and your people safe. Besides,” they say, humour colouring their voice, “We neither of us died today. In the end, the point is rather moot. That’s everything. Keep those dressings dry and let me know if you need help changing them in the morning.”

Áine passes her a robe, then busies themselves with tidying away their belongings while she pulls it on. Yugiri still feels stiff and worn, but she can stretch without pain and her skin is no longer so bloody. The candles lighting the room are almost burned down, but the faint lights from those others still awake in this eventful night leak through the cracks in the shutters. It’s enough to see the bruises on her friend’s face, the dark circles beneath their tired eyes.

“Thank you, my friend. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, Yugiri, no. Just rest, and find me in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Square won't let my healer WoL tenderly care for Yugiri's wounds, so I guess I have to write it myself, huh?


End file.
